


Girls Make Boys Cry

by orphan_account



Series: A Lesson in Romantics [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-03
Updated: 2011-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But then you see him, curled up on the couch. Your heart thuds, because you know what this means. Anger courses through you and you swear, if you see that bitch’s face, you’re going to punch it in. She toys with his heart, and you’re left to pick up the pieces.</p><p>[AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It is Typical for Us to Act Like This

You are Dave Strider and it’s been a damn long night. Your key hits the lock at four A.M., your decks and supplies sitting in the hall next to you. Innumerable sets at Alternia, (the club down the street), have you feeling wiped, and two, three- shit, you lost count- beers don’t help the situation. The door swings open, and surprisingly enough, the lights are on, which kind of pisses you off, since it doesn’t look like anyone is awake.

 

But then you see him, curled up on the couch. Your heart thuds, because you know what this means. Anger courses through you and you swear, if you see that bitch’s face, you’re going to punch it in. She toys with his heart, and you’re left to pick up the pieces.

 

He flicks his eyes to you, and the startling blue is bloodshot and watery. He’s been crying again. “Dave.” Your name comes out so soft, so pained. It stomps out your anger, and now you’re just upset.

 

Your decks can wait. You slouch over to the couch and look down at him, sighing. “She did it again, didn’t she? John, I’m telling you-”

 

“It’s not that easy man.”

 

“Tell me why the fuck not. She’s a cheating, manipulative bitch. You need to leave her ass.”

 

“I love her Dave! You just- just- just can’t leave someone you love it’s- not- n-not-” He dissolves into hiccupping tears again, curling in on himself. It hurts you on so many levels, and you don’t even argue or complain when you sit and he curls up to you and sobs into your shirt.

 

This is the price you pay.

 

 

tenticleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 

TT: Maybe if you just talk to him…?

TG: fuck rose

TG: talk to him

TG: he doesnt see any sense in words

TG: i cant get him to leave her

TG: let alone will i ever get him to

TT: To?

TG: reciprocate

TT: Big words on your part, my, my.

TG: shut the fuck up

TT: You never know what could happen, Dave. Nothing will happen if you don’t talk to him.

TG: maybe thats how i want it to stay

 

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

 

 

He slumps around the apartment for two days in pajamas, barely touching food and not even budging when you offer to pop in Con Air. It’s pretty bad this time, and you really want to know what she said, or more likely, did, to get him so down.

 

“John, get the fuck up, and go to work.” You stand in his doorway, pissed that you have to be up so early, just to drag his sorry ass out of bed. He stares at you from his bed, not even caring to move, shake his head, tell you to at least get the fuck out. It adds to your bad mood.

 

“Fuck man, I am done trying! I hope you get fired!” You slam the door behind you and leave him with words you didn’t even mean. Words said in the heat of the moment. Words said because _she_ can’t treat him right.

 

You’re so done.

 

 

“It’s cold as hell outside, Lalonde. You better have a good reason for calling me out here.” Especially because you desperately wanted to track down Serket and show her just how much you despise her guts.

 

“Calm down, geeze. I thought you needed to get out of the house. It can’t be good for you to be the only one to have to deal with him, so I called Jade-”

 

“Jade?! She doesn’t know how to handle emotional people- she flips out more than me!”

 

“She’s his sister! I’m pretty sure she can at least talk some sense into him!” It’s a blow to your pride to know she’s right. If you can’t talk him out of this, how do you qualify as a best friend? Even worse, it hurts your chances to ever- as Rose puts it, “woo”- Egbert properly.

 

“Yeah whatever.” Silence spans between you then, and you watch steam from her tea curl in the air, hoping Jade can talk him out of it.


	2. He Never Starts Over

Lalonde shoved her scarf at you before you left, waiting until you put it on before leaving herself. It’s annoying as hell, the way she treats you like a child. It’s also annoying that she’s the older sibling. Some things will never change.

You hear talking when you get back to the apartment, which is good. It means Jade has gotten John to talk- because you can definitely hear a male voice. What may be a smile graces your lips for a few moments, but it disappears when you get the door open.

John looks at you, and you see his face drop into some guilty expression. Vriska flips her hair over her shoulder and surveys you calmly, lips curling into a grimace. “Strider… Should I go, John?” She pouts the tiniest and he shakes his head.

“Yes.” He looks at you wildly, mouth agape. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“It’s John’s too-”

“I pay majority fucking rent and he hasn’t been working because of your dumb broad ass. Get. The hell. Out.”

A roll of her eyes is all she responds with. “You think you’re so tough. You don’t scare me. I’ll come around if I like.” Regardless, she stands, brushing down her backside like sitting on the couch has, in some way, dirtied her. “I’ll talk to you later, John.” She blows him a kiss and gives a little wave of her fingers. Your hand curls into a fist at your side, and you don’t relax until you hear the door snap shut behind her.

“What the hell was that?” You glare at John sharply, though it’s all for naught behind your shades. He looks at his lap and twiddles his thumbs- he’s like a damn dog, cowering when he knows he’s done wrong.

“She came over and wanted to talk- wh-what was I supposed to do?”

“Uh, I don’t know? Tell her to fuck off? That you don’t want to see her? John that is not the way you handle a healthy relationship!”

“And what do you know about healthy relationships?!” You flinch back with the force of his words. “When the hell did you have one last?! All it is with you is- is one night stands and- god, you could have had something with Jade, and you broke her heart!” That’s a low blow, especially for John.

“At least I ended it when it wasn’t going right!” You shout in retort. “I gave her the straight case and didn’t toy with her fucking heart! That’s what you do when you actually care! You are such a blind dumbass!”

You lock eyes and everything you say hangs in the air. He’s right and you’re right and now you both regret what you said but it can’t be taken back. It doesn’t help that he’s the King of Pansies and he’s blubbering again, half-assed apologies you have no choice to accept. For now you’ll pat him on the back and make sure he’s pieced back together enough to function and you’ll deal with yourself later.

 

When you’re lying in your bed that night, half asleep and your room is painted fifteen shades of night and the back of your eyelids, you finally begin to sort through the past week’s collection of shit.

Vriska has been John’s off-and-on girlfriend since your senior year of high school. She hasn’t stopped being a bitch for one second of the past five years. You can’t really decide if you want to slap her or John more. Probably Vriska. She’s the root of these problems in the first place.

You roll over and run your hands through your hair absently. Honestly, you wonder if John will ever see the light. If he’ll still be with Vriska playing the same old game in the next five years. It makes you laugh, dryly, and next thing you know, your face is pressed into your pillow and damp heat makes splotches in the pillow case.

 

“You actually going to work today bro?” You blink tiredly at John, shoving your glasses on your face and padding over to the fridge. He’s munching cereal at the table and gives a tiny nod. It makes you feel worlds better.

A half carton of milk swims into vision- but then the six pack of mini apple juices behind it does too, and you grab one of those instead. “Got a lunch packed?” You feel so much like a mom, but it’s how your morning conversations have gone for years.

His spoon clatters into his bowl and he swears. “I’ll bring you something.” You comment, before he can start rushing around the kitchen and try to make a lunch, which will only make him late. He runs a hand through his hair and nods.

While he’s off to work, you’re trying to find it. You call Karkat and see if he has any openings at Alternia, but he gives you major shit. “AS MUCH REVENUE AS YOU BRING IN, IT’D BE GREAT TO HAVE YOU ON, BUT I DON’T HAVE ANY OPENINGS. BESIDES, IF I HAVE YOU ON TOO OFTEN IT’LL START TO LOSE IT’S CHARM.” Then he kindly hangs up on you. God he’s a major asshole.

So it’s probably going to have to be another week with you barely scraping by on rent. John’s going to have to pitch in more than usual. If he still has a job, that is. You sigh, and take off your glasses, rubbing your eyes in irritation. Hopefully John can move on easier than last time.

Fat chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same old song and dance. Sorry for any typos and such. Bluh bluh.  
> I may rewrite this I am so very unsure of what I'm doing.


	3. Frankly You're Not Worth It Anymore

“Two All-Stars, both with hash browns, bacon, and scrambled eggs.” You lean against the counter and wait for the food to be cooked, deciding whether or not you want to drag along a piece of pie. But maybe that would look too… intimate? Ahh, fuck it- Egbert needs it.

 

You walk out of Waffle House with a bag full of greasy breakfast food and two slices of apple pie. Traffic is getting heavy about now, and maneuvering your piece-of-shit car into the street is no easy matter. At least you had the sense to pick up food early. John just might be eating it cold, is all.

 

Skynyrd blasts from your speakers and heat trickles from your vents. Your heat barely works and in lunch hour traffic you could very well end up like a caveman in an ice block. Cars move sluggishly for a half hour until you reach John’s work, and you snatch the bag out of the passenger seat.

 

“Uh, John, Dave’s here!” Tavros scuttles off after you look in his direction, disappearing behind shelves of nonfiction blather. John’s head pops out around the row on the exact opposite side of the store, and he smiles a bit.

 

“Lunch?” You nod, and the feeling you get when he hoots happily and makes his way towards you in indescribable. He’s saying something about being starving and books and work but you’re tuned out, just watching him move. He digs in the bag and pulls out one of the trays, observing that they’re both the same before he pops it open, the sound of crackling plastic snapping you out of your daydream.

 

John eats quickly but neatly, all swift bites and easy appreciation. You get caught up in _him_ again, until he asks if you’re going to eat. You are kind of hungry, and you’ll get to spend some time with him, yeah? No reason not to. You sit across from him and pop open your own plastic container, savoring the moment and not the food, shoveling it down. He knocks his foot against yours, catching your eyes, (even if he can’t tell through the shades), and making you pause.

 

“Slow down.”

 

He smiles when he says it, and it’s the first real smile you’ve seen in so long- before the current situation even- and you miss smiles like that, miss them so bad; and so you do, you slow down. There’s only you and him and street sounds and the shuffling of Tavros in the back of the bookstore. Everything is right in this moment so right so, so…

 

Everything will be just _fine._

 

 

 _“Just let me in.” She stands with her arms crossed and her hips cocked and her bitch levels roaring. You’re tired and all it’s been is cajoling and comforting for three fucking days and you just can’t_ take _that anymore._

 

 _“Get out of here or I’m calling the super. I’m not in any fucking mood to deal with your shit.”_

 

 _“This isn’t shit NOW LET ME TALK TO JOHN.” You don’t even know where it comes from, but when she yells at you that hate bubbles up and your hand stops exactly an inch from her face. She blinks, doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch or recoil. Just stands there and stares at you, slowly smirking when you drop your hand._

 

 _“Pussy.” She spits, and before you can actually change your mind, maybe not stop yourself this time, she scuttles off, back to her web of lies. Your fist slams into the door, which, shit, you’re going to have to pay to fix later. Now John is poking his head out of his room and asking what is going on and you lie. You lie to help him stay together but really you’re… you’re falling apart._

 

Sometimes, (and he will never, ever, in a million years tell anyone this, or admit to it), _sometimes_ , he slips into your room when it’s dark and lays opposite you, and he’ll fall asleep and not even realize he’s cuddling up to you. Then you wake up in a tangled mess of limbs and heat and you’re always hoping he doesn’t realize you’ve popped one and it’s entirely his fault. But you don’t complain as he doses on your chest and you stare at him, dusky pre-sunrise light thrown across him and setting his face out so softly against the red of your sheets and- and just once, you almost had the courage to- to kiss him-

 

But that was then, and now you’re just trying to help him piece things back together again, hoping you’re still friends. Even when you yell at him and he cuddles you like his own personal teddy bear and that one time- just that one time-

 

Memories clutter up your brain, everything is so foggy, when did it get so hazy? Blood is sharp on your tongue like it’s _that_ night again, and you’re pretty sure this is a dream, the way colors sparkle. The couch is so soft and maybe you can sleep, because you don’t know when you last did that very well at all.

 

 

 _You don’t even know how you got here, because one moment it was yelling, fierce and angry, John half crying through it, you pressed to the wall and looking on, aghast. So you try to reason with him and next thing you know you’ve got a broken nose and your glasses have flown off and wow, were they always that fragile? Black plastic shatters as you stumble over them and cough, clutching your nose and looking at John, pupils the same shade as your blood. It’s the first time he’s seen them, and it kind of hurts to know what a shitty moment this actually is_

 

 _John is pretty strong, (at least in the heat of the moment)- you’re pretty sure he broke your nose. Blood is sticky-warm on your fingers, dribbling between them and down your arm. John is just- he’s just silent, and he backs up, looking pained and horrified, and you know he’s sorry, it’s okay, it’s okay-_

 

 

“Dave.” You are half asleep on the couch, freezing cold and partially out of breath. John is shaking your shoulder gently. Reality swims into view as you open your eyes, trying to find him in the semi-darkness of the living room. When your vision is clear enough, you mutter out a swear, sitting up hastily.

 

“Shit man what happened-”

 

Red is blossomed across his right cheek in the shape of a handprint, and his lip is bleeding. “I finally took your advice?” But he sounds so unsure and now…

 

Now you’re not so sure he should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling a bit better about this now.  
> Thanks for all the kudos and such, thusfar.


	4. All That Has Changed is This Pretty Face

This time when he curls up with you, you’re awake and he’s aware and well shit, not like you can deny him, right? So you shift around- his knees knocking into yours and your arm shoved uncomfortably under your head- until he’s comfortable, crown of his head just resting in the palm of your hand. He’s never been against touchy-feely-ness, and you have nothing against it when it’s _him_.

 

He blathers on for sometime, but the gist of his story is this: he grew some fucking cahones and dropped Vriska. She was none too happy about it, and so… well, he smiles at you at that point and stops. His lip is slightly swollen on the bottom left, but already scabbing. You brush your fingers across his cheek, the handprint red, his skin warm. He flinches just a bit, and you hesitate, pulling your hand back. Stupid stupid-

 

You’re surprised when he grabs your hand and presses it gently to his cheek, his fingers falling into the spaces between yours. It makes your own cheeks warm, right to the tips of your ears, but all the emotion you’re feeling hides behind your shades. If he could just see your eyes right now, it’d be the end of you. So you focus on the warmth of his skin and the murmur of his words and hope that maybe, just maybe, this is going to tip things in your favor.

 

 

Everything has been so blissfully normal as of late. John wakes up at seven and goes to work. On Saturdays you manage to drag yourself out of bed and you both eat cereal in the kitchen. He pitches in half of the rent and you take him out for drinks at Alternia.

 

He’s half sullen about the break up, but you can see the difference; he has more confidence, and he doesn’t look anxious half of the time anymore. Sometimes he’ll call you up on his lunch break and you’ll meet him somewhere for food. Other days you always call to make sure he’s got lunch, even if you have to call around noon and see if he needs you to drop by.

 

You’re so unaware, you’ve fooled yourself into a dream. Now your own confidence is building, but you need to give him time, even Rose doesn’t need to tell you that. (She does anyway.) So now you’re trying to cut yourself off, can’t have too much John, not too much of a good thing, he’s like fucking crack lately; like God just decided to drop one-hundred and fifty pounds of derpy drug in front of you and commanded you to snort it all. (Of course, it’s Egbert, so fuck God telling you to, you’d do it no matter what.)

 

Now you throw yourself into work- mixing new tracks on off days, coming up with new beats and rhythms. Notebooks pile up in your room, filled with scribbled raps and half-formed sheet music you messily scrawled. Egbert shows up at your doorway one night as you sit at your desk, cross-legged and crammed into your chair, writing with one hand and tapping out beats on the keyboard with another.

 

You barely note him, just going on with your work. Sometime around three AM, when you throw your pen down in exhaustion and stretch the tension out of your muscles, you notice him passed out in your bed, thrown haphazardly over the comforter. You find a throw and toss it over him, watching him shift and murmur your name sleepily. Warmth floods your cheeks, and you retreat to the couch quickly after that.

 

 

“I fucking hope you’re happy with him, John Egbert! No wonder your pansy ass never satisfied me- goddamn _cocksucker._ ”

 

It’s something brilliant to wake up to, you think, the sound of Vriska screeching. She’s pounding on the door, and you’re groggily stumbling from the couch. No way John can hear her- he’s at the back of the apartment, behind the closed door of your room. “What the fuck d’you want-”

 

“ _You!_ ” Hands slam into your chest and you barely catch yourself, grabbing onto the doorknob.

 

“Calm down you crazy bitch!” She fumes at you, hissing between her teeth.

 

“You probably thought I never saw the way you looked at him, huh? Did you convince him to do it? Tch.” You can’t help it- an embarrassed flush comes to your cheeks. There’s a noise down the hall, and John stands at the end, tiredly rubbing his eyes and standing half-in, half-out of your doorway. Vriska’s eyes spark in anger.

 

“Dave? Something going on?” He can’t see her around you- besides, he doesn’t even have his glasses.

 

“Well shit, Strider! You sure work fast! Did you already fuck him?!” You gape softly, even as she hisses the words. Usually you’d be able to fire off a retort, but you’re in a very sticky position here.

 

“Vriska?” John squeaks.

 

“Damn right it’s me! Oh, I’m sorry; did I catch you with your new fuck-buddy? I do apologize, don’t let me intrude!” Her tone in patronizing as ever and you stand awkwardly between them as she yells. John makes a confused spluttering sound.

 

“It’s really not what you think-”

 

“Don’t even bother.” She throws a glance at you. “I’m sure it’s everything he’s ever wanted.” You are officially ruined with these words, and you watch wordlessly as she stalks out.

 

It’s quiet for a long time, as you stand in the doorway, hand tight on the doorknob. The truth behind her words is obvious in the silence. Then-

 

“Dave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter guys! I really hoped you enjoyed Girls Make Boys Cry, I'm pretty happy with it. It was short work, but a full fic so I feel very happy with that.  
> Also, ah, I will be writing a sequel because obviously this leaves things hanging far too dramatically.  
> Again, sorry for any typos and the like.

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no idea where this came from. It's a side project ATM, I'm not really sure where it's going.  
> Sorry for any spelling errors and such.


End file.
